Heresy! The Adventures of Commissar Conna Dalvar
by Blip-chan
Summary: Conna Dalver, a female Commissar attached to a male unit full of bad pranksters. Shenanigans and hilarity insue, along with a large side helping of grimdark.
1. UltraGreen

"Please, explain," asked Commissar Conna Dalvar as she sat behind her desk, a squad of men in front of her. "I'm just dying to know how Brother-Captain Necarus got covered in lime-green paint." Her hands were folded neatly on her desk and a slight smile belied her true emotions. The men were pressed as far away as they could, heads down.

"Well…" stuttered Elos Mandrin, who had been designated group speaker due to the simple fact that everyone else outranked him. "It was an accident ma'am!" The words tumbled out in a nervous stream and when Conna raised one eyebrow he let out an eeep of fear.

"Explain."

"It was meant for Commander Xandros! We didn't know we had such esteemed visitors!"

"And this makes this better how, exactly?" When no one had an answer for her, she let out a long sigh. "I hate to do this to you, but you can't say you don't deserve this. Brother-Captain, you can have them." She stood as a very angry Ultramarine walked in, his normally pristine blue power armour splattered a hideous shade of green. "On the behalf of my regiment, I apologize. They're not…very smart. Very loyal, but not very smart."

"I can see that," the Marine said, letting a malicious chuckle escape as he glared at the extremely frightened men. They were trying to make themselves disappear into the wall, and not a few of them were mumbling hasty prayers.

"Have fun, boys!" she said cheerfully and closed the door as she left.

* * *

Two hours later, Brother Necarus stepped out of the room. Conna, who had been waiting for him, matched his pace.

"Are they sufficiently cowed?" she asked, noticing that all the green paint was gone from his armour.

"Yes, commissar, they are sufficiently cowed. However, it was not a particularly clean process. It involved a little bit of blood and a lot of blue paint. Feel free to send me the cleaning bill when you're all settled." Conna halted mid-stride.

"There's a Marine after my own heart," she thought with a chuckle. "I couldn't have done it better myself."

A/N: This is a taster of a longer story I'm working on. It's all written but it needs to be beta'ed by the ORIGINAL **Dalvar**! Enjoy and leave happy reviews so I post the next part sooner!


	2. Commissar:1 Tau:0

"Look at this!" Two chastised officers stood in front of their commissar, heads bowed. "It's gray I tell you, gray! I'm 25 years old for Emperor's sake! And it's all your fault!" There was an awkward silence as Colonial Alio Asem and Major Jay Serenia tried to look anywhere but at the face of their seething commissar.

"You have the GALL to provoke a fight with a fellow company on this ship! Not only that, but you have succeeded in causing severe damage to the mess hall. You're officers gentlemen. Behave like it!" The men had the sense to look ashamed and the yelling faded. Conna folded and re-folded her hands, fighting the impulse to put a bolt through someone's head.

"You will report to the repair squads and you will like it. Dismissed."

"Yes ma'am."

At this point, Conna Dalvar was a very disgruntled commissar. This was her first posting and it was already an impossible disaster. She had been one of the first female commissars in history and being attached to an all male regiment had put her at a distinct disadvantage. The men didn't take her seriously and her lack of experience and her mildly hysterical bent made her an easy target for ridicule. This, in turn, meant she had to a lot of yelling and, occasionally, had to put a bolter round in the ceiling. But this last fiasco had gone too far.

Conna's regiment, the Anderican 23rd, had been traveling with a Tallarainian regiment that was so straight-laced that when they caught a group of her men, led by her two commanding officers, trying to play a practical joke, they demanded blood. For now, she had managed to avoid bloodshed, but it had been very stressful and she had a growing desire to shoot something.

"At least I'll be able to shoot Xenos soon," she grumbled.

* * *

When Conna's regiment got planet-side, shit was going down in a big way. A full-scale rebellion had broken out on Chiron Prime and the Tau, who had been trading extensively with the planet, were vocally, and sometimes violently, supporting the rebels.

The briefing was long and drawn out due to the need for restructuring of the units for city warfare. Conna decided to attach herself to 5th unit, who were doing the first sweep. After the close of the meeting Conna spoke a few quiet words to her men. They were gathered by an unassuming gray building, double-checking weapons and supplies.

"Men, you know the drill," she said, nodding to the leader of the unit. "Head out." Her men melted into the walls like the disciplined troopers they were. Conna had slightly more difficulty, being dressed in a bright uniform, but she managed.

Her men slunk down a small street, eyes open and senses tingling. Conna heard a crack off to her left and turned just as two las-bolts flew by her face. One only singed her hair, but the other found it's mark, gouging a bloody track in her cheek. It wasn't particularly deep, but the cauterized wound was painful enough to make her yelp.

"Contact!" she yelled into her com-bead as she whirled around and fired off two shots in the direction that the enemy fire had come from. The window shattered in a rainbow shower of glass and her assailant fell onto the pavement. Conna walked towards the body, head crouched and senses on high alert.

"Commissar," One of her troopers' voices buzzed in her ear. "You're bleeding. Let me put a pressure pad on it." Conna stayed still, letting Arrel, the unit medicus, tend to the cut on her face. As she sat, her men thoroughly searched the body.

"There are no identifying things on the body," reported one of her men. "There's nothing suspicious either. There's absolutely nothing."

"Which is suspicious in-and-of itself," Conna reminded them. "They're probably ready for us. Keep on high alert." Her men nodded and faded back into the shadows.

"Let's go."

* * *

When Conna and her men crawled into an open courtyard, they found three guardsmen huddled together. Conna stepped forward, making sure the guardsmen her unit had found saw her uniform.

"Men, report." All three men began to babble at once. The voices blended together in a frantic whine, the only coherent words being "attack", "battle" and "rebels".

"I said report, not blather like idiots," Conna said, stopping the flow of hasty words. "So report." One man stepped forwards, visibly pale and shaken.

"It was horrible. The xeno scum have some kind of dreadnaught. It killed all of our squad-mates and we were the only ones to survive…" He stopped mid-sentence as Conna pulled out her gun.

"You didn't become an Imperial Guardsman to survive." He was dead before he hit the ground. "Now," she said, directing her comments to the two surviving guardsmen. "You will take us to the place where the battle occurred."

"No…I can't…I don't want…I" The second gunshot seemed even louder than the first and the two corpses were heaped on each other in a macabre imitation of a pig-pile.

"You want to join your comrades or are you going to show us the way?" Conna asked, her bolt-pistol firmly aimed at the forehead of the last guardsman.

"This way."

* * *

The sight that greeted Conna when she poked her head down the ally her unit had been led to was not a particularly pleasant one. A barricade had been hastily erected and was defended by armed civilians. But the truly frightening thing was the battle-suit the Tau had sent to reinforce the barrier.

"Men, we have to take this out," she murmured into her com-bead. As her men moved into position, the battlesuit noticed them and began to open fire. Conna nodded to her sapper, a man by the name of Fenner.

"Good thing you brought that grenade launcher," she said, gesturing to him.

"It always pays to be prepared," he said with a chuckle as he set it up.

"Fire at will." The grenades had an immediate effect on the barricade, gouging holes in the make-shift walls in front of them. However, Fenner's barrage didn't last for long. The battlesuit placed one carefully aimed shot in his head, and he slumped to the ground, a ashen hole between his eyes and the back of his head blown out.. To Conna's relief, the grenades he had been carrying had not exploded and she picked up five of them and began sidling towards the barricade.

She was spotted by the battlesuit, which began to shoot at her. She dropped, hitting the ground palms down. The grenades rolled away from her. Flat on her stomach, Conna grabbed the only tow that were still close to her and began to crawl. Her men had the battle-suit occupied and she wasn't noticed by the rebels right away. When they did notice her, it was simple enough to order covering fire.

By the time Conna had crawled to the barricade, her heart was racing. The barricade couldn't have been more than 10 yards away from where she had started, but the crawl had felt like it had lasted hours. She was at the foot of the battle-suit, and she reached out hesitantly to lay her hand on the cold metal. When the xeno didn't respond to her she stood slowly. Her enemy was focused on the troopers in front of them and didn't notice as she began to climb. The battlesuit noticed her and tried to shake her off, but Conna clung to it. She had been sheltered from enemy fire as she had climbed, but now that she had reached the shoulder, she had exposed her head and part of her torso. Las-bolts flew over her head, forcing her to duck behind the xeno's armored body. It was at this moment that she noticed the missile pod sitting on the machine's shoulder.

_Perfect_, she thought. _Just what I need_. The first thing she did was prime her grenades by removing the pins. Then she stuffed one and then the other, into the empty missile holders. She managed to get one hand out before the grenades exploded.

She was thrown ten feet backwards in the air, pain blossoming in her chest and right arm. She hit the ground hard and all the breath left her in a flood of black stars. When her vision cleared, she saw the flaming battle-suit and heard the loud crack of disciplined las-fire. Her men were making quick work of the remaining resistance now that the battlesuit was incapacitated by Conna's attack. Arrel stuck his head over the barricade and Conna moved to meet him. But when she tried to stand she saw that her right hand was gone, and that all that remained was a stump. At the sight of her bloody mangled arm, she promptly passed out.

* * *

Conna felt her eyes open blearily. The sight that greeted her was both comforting and frightening. The white walls reflected a painfully white light that almost made her close her eyes, but even as she watched her eyes adjusted and she knew she was in an Imperial hospital.

"Conna! It's good to see you!' A familiar voice preceded a familiar face as Arrel walked in, trailed by a techpriest. "We were a bit worried there. You lost a lot of blood, what with the shrapnel in your chest as well as your whole lower arm being blown off. It took a bit of stitching up to get you working again, but it was well worth the effort." Conna snorted.

"I can't be _that_ well liked, Arrel," she said, a laugh choked off by the pain in her chest. Arrel noticed the flash of pain on her face and walked over to a cabinet and drew out a needle, which he promptly stuck in her arm.

"You are a hero, Conna. The Imperium can't afford to lose heroes." he said, no trace of humor in his face. "And that should take care of the pain. Now I'm going to let Icarus brief you on your new augmetic arm. Take care." With that, Arrel left and the tech-priest slid into his place.

"Well," he began, "I'm sure you know the basics of augmetics, but using one is very different from theoretical knowledge. This is the very newest model, fitting for an Imperial hero such as yourself, of course. Now, you should practice exercises to adjust, because almost all people who must have limbs replaced have considerable difficulty judging distances. That will pass with practice." Conna began to tune out as the tech-priest kept on rambling about all the new devices in her arm. She felt herself getting sleepy, and closed her eyes. The last thing she heard before the drug-induced sleep claimed her was a squawk of protest from the tech-priest.

"Hey! Are you even listening to me?"

* * *

The next time Conna woke up, she was feeling much better and rather restless. She slid out of bed and tossed a robe over her plain while hospital clothes. She slid barefoot into the hallway and made her way towards the command center, hoping to find Commander Xandros. She found him, sitting with ground commanders and consulting a holo-map. When he saw her he stood and greeted her warmly.

"Conna! Hero of the campaign! It's nice to see you up and about. Sit, sit!" Conna sat obediently in the chair he gestured to, an embarrassed blush creeping up her face like a spider.

"I don't know what you mean sir," she said, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm no hero." That drew an appreciative chuckle from the men around the table and Xandros shook his head.

"Conna, Conna!' You blew up a Tau Crisis Battle-suit!" Conna nodded, but she was still very confused. "You knocked a strategic hole in the rebel defenses that we have exploited thoroughly. They had set barricades up throughout the city, bringing the war to an effective stale-mate, which was why we needed you here in the first place. Within hours of your arrival, your bold offensive succeeded in doing what three months of war had failed to do. Our troops are in the final stages of battle, clearing out the last remaining heretics and Xenos. If that's not heroism, then I don't know what is." Conna was as red as a lobster by the time Xandros was finished with his speech.

"I'm only doing my job, sir"

"Well," He said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "if you continue to do you job this well, you will truly earn a place among the Imperium's heroes."

THE END

A/N: Hooray for longer stories!!! Not as cracky as the first, but I'm going to intersperse silly stuff in with pieces like this one. I have another already almost finished (But not beta'd) and I have ideas for others. Please R&R!


	3. Chicken Soup for the Imperial Soul

Chicken Soup for the Imperial Soul

"ACHOO!" Commissar Conna Dalvar snuffled, wiping her nose on a tissue. She was sprawled in the comfortable chair in her office, a steaming cup of recaff sitting just within reach of her hand. Her eyes were puffy and red and her nose was in a state of permanent runniness. There were bags under her eyes, and her face was a patchwork of flushed spots. Her condition had developed over the course of the last few days, beginning with a sore throat and culminating in this horrid bout of sneezing, sniffling and coughing. She had spoken to Arrel, who, over the course of the past campaigns, had become a trusted friend. He had agreed to take blood for a test just to calm her, but he seemed intolerably amused by the whole affair.

"Conna," called Arrel, who had just come to the door, "I have all your test results." He walked in, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of something, which he set down in front of her.

"I'm dying, aren't I?" she said miserably. "I must be dying. I can' t possibly survive something this miserable." Arrel tried to suppress a laugh, but a snort escaped anyway. Conna glared at him. Arrel immediately smoothed his face into an expression of pleasant disinterest, taking the bite out of Conna's mostly artificial anger and soothing her very wounded pride.

"It's not very nice to laugh at the suffering of others, Arrel," she muttered, directing her last bit of indignation at Arrel, who was fighting a loosing battle against his smile .

"Conna, Conna, Conna," he said, shaking his head, a smile now firmly entrenched on his face. "You are not dying. Not even close. I'd know, I've seen death. You have no fever and you've been quite…vocal about your symptoms, so I'm sure you don't have headaches or an upset stomach. What you have, my dear, is a cold. Just a little seasonal bug that goes around every so often. You don't have to be a drama queen about it. You'll be fine with a few days of bed rest and fluids."

"I'll be fine in a few days?" Conna repeated, sounding a bit stunned. "I can't wait a few days! I've got a war to fight! I can't just lie around!"

"The pills will help then," he said, nodding to the tray in front of her. "There's some soup and medication for your symptoms there. Eat up. You need it." Conna sniffed suspiciously at the soup. It smelled like chicken.


	4. War

"Hold, dammit! They're only bugs!" Commissar Conna Dalvar was stretched beyond all reason. She had to hold a key trench against a tyrannid swarm and her men were breaking. They had been under constant attack for almost a day now. Her men were exhausted, sacred and wanted to flee. Not that she blamed them, but she couldn't afford to let them run. She had been told this trench must be defended at all costs, and she refused to be thought a coward. "You will hold this line or answer to me!" Her voice summoned what little resolve her men had left and they faced the chittering masses that were regrouping to continue the attack.

_Las-fire is frakking useless_, she thought bitterly as another volley fell into the horde, barely denting the foes before them.

"Foe approaching! Fire at ten!" Her troopers held their fire as the swarm pulsed and rippled towards them like an immovable wave of death. When the foe was ten feet away from the line, a hail of las-fire cut down the first rows of tyrannids.

_If nothing else, my men are disciplined_, she thought darkly as she fired bolt after bolt into the wave of tyrannids. Chitin and gore splattered her lines as the tyrannids managed to reach the line, their superior numbers and reckless abandon made them press on no matter how many of them were shot, heads gone, or were trampled to death by their compatriots. As they got closer, Conna drew her chainsword and leapt out of the trench.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

She felt flesh give way under her blade as she cut a swathe through the mass of hissing bodies. Her men jumped up after her, guns forgotten in favor of the swords that had been given to them specially for this particular mission. Her sword revved as it came in contact with hard biological amour, screeching as the chitin gave way and the blade cut into soft flesh. Blood splattered on her face, warm for the instant that it was not agonizing. She felt the bio-acid in the creature's blood beginning to eat away at her face and staggered backwards, compulsively clenching her chainsword.

"I need cover!" Arrel's familiar voice sounded right by Conna's ear, making her flinch. A clatter of voices and fire was the response to Arrel's shout. A hand grabbed Conna's arm to steady her as she staggered and a splash of lukewarm water eased the burn in her face. A cloth wiped away the rest of the blood and the burn was replaced by a dull throb.

"Close call there, Conna," he said as she blinked, relieved that the pain was gone. She was sitting, and she was completely unaware of how she had gotten there. Arrel was quickly putting gear away, looking over his shoulder for any sign of the enemy. A ring of troopers had formed around her, holding the tyrannid tide at bay as Arrel helped her to her feet. As she stood, a bright blue rock flew over her head and smashed into the foes around them. Another joined the first, cutting swathes of destruction through the waves of chitin and claws. As she watched, the rocks cracked open, revealing a squad of Ultramarines.

"Brothers to me!" The Marines fell on the unsuspecting tyrannids like a storm, the press of creatures lessening as they turned to meet the unexpected foe. The troopers breathed a welcome sigh of relief as the reinforcement arrived, but Conna was irked by their sudden disinterest in the battle.

"What?' she shouted at her troopers, modulating the pitch of her voice to carry through the lines. "Are you just going to stand around and let them take all the glory? You've fought too long and too hard for that! Carry yourselves with pride!" A cheer tore itself from tired throats and her men charged, their energy renewed. The surge of men pressed the tyrannids away from their line, back and back. Conna had forgotten the pain in her face, the raw satisfaction of the kill running through her.

_They would destroy what we have sweat, bled and died for,_ she thought, her blade cutting through another chitinous shell, spattering blood on the already soaked ground. _So we must fight until we drop in order to prevent their twisted xeno goals from coming to fruition. _

"Duck." The booming voice above her head brooked no argument and she complied instantly, falling to one knee. A painfully percusive explosion reverberated through her, the cough of bolter fire ringing in her head. A towering marine stood above her as she stood, her bolt pistol spitting rounds to cover her motion. The one thing that always surprised her about war was how powerful she felt. She knew that she could be expunged in a moment, but the power to fight, kill, and possibly die for something she believed in was intoxicating. She could see the tides of the battle flux, shifted almost imperceptivly by the arrival of the Imperium's best, and she was content. She lived for the moments of pure phyisicality, the metal peace of battle, the instictive thrust and parry of claws and blades and the bark of her bolts.

"Brothers, we have orders to retreat!" Conna started, looking up at the Marine who had given the order.

"What do you mean, 'orders to retreat'?" she yelled. "I don't know about you, but I have been ordered to hold this position no matter what!"

"Those orders have been overrided, Commissar. All the civilians have been removed from the surface and we are preparing to virus-bomb the planet. We have no time." Conna nodded, knowing that it was probably the only solution.

"You heard the Marine, boys!" she called. "Fall back to the ships! We're getting out of here!"


	5. Revenge

Conna Dalvar drew deep breaths, her head in her hand. She was safely strapped into the transport ship lifting her and her men back to the Intrepid Spirit, the flagship of the campaign, but she felt abnormally drained. Her muscles screamed with every small movement and her face burned. Many of the others were animated, the flush of victory on their faces, but Conna was decidedly disinterested in conversation.

"You look tired," boomed a voice above her. She looked up, a wall of blue ceramite filling her vision. She raised her head more to look the marine in the face, mildly taken aback by the familiar face 8 feet above her.

"I know you from somewhere," she said, a frown creasing her face when she couldn't come up with the name of the Marine in front of her.

"Brother-captain Avin Necarus, 7th Company, Ultramarines," he said nodding to her. "And you're Commissar Conna Dalvar of the Anderican 23rd. I fought with your regiment during the Anvolite campaign. I have sharp memories of one particular unit of yours."

"Not ringing any bells," Conna said, an embarrassed grin spreading on her face. "And I thought that I would remember meeting my first Space Marine." A wry smile lit his face, twisting the scars on it into a frightening grimace.

"Does green paint mean anything to you?" Conna's eyes widened as she realized who this man was. She looked away, slightly embarrassed at being remembered for such a debacle.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't remember your name!" The Brother-Captain gave an apologetic shrug.

"No need to worry about it," he said, the smile on his face oddly calming even coming from the frightening visage above her. "I was angry enough to have broken protocol , so I probably owe you an apology as well. And you never did send me that cleaning bill. I feel a bit badly."

"It was the perfect excuse to redecorate," she said, inwardly surprised at the casualness of her remark. Space Marines were the living embodiment of the the God-Emperor's will, but the Marine before her seemed like any other man, even if he was 8 feet tall and incased in power amour. The carefully constructed images in her head crumbled like chalk which was a mildly disconcerting feeling for her.

"Interested in payback?" His voice dropped, the pitch so low that Conna had to strain to pick them up.

"Sir I…"

"Enough with this 'sir' business," he said briskly. "I have a perfect idea."

* * *  
The next morning, all hell broke loose. The first sign was screaming. Then, to Conna's endless amusement, she saw a man running through the hallways, stark naked and covered in paint. Blue paint. Ultramarine blue paint.

The heavy clank of armored footfalls reached her ears, a trumpeting herald for the huge man who came around the corner.

"What on earth is this?" The bellow shook the very walls of the starship. The startled men froze when they saw who it was. Conna just laughed quietly in her corner. One unlucky guardsman slipped and landed at the Ultramarine's feet, leaving a long smear of blue paint on the ground. The guardsmen who recognized the Marine flinched and turned away, flinching.

"This is absolutely disgraceful!" Avin stood, filling the whole hallway with his massive bulk. "I return from a debriefing to find you playing with paint. Paint! I plan on speaking with your commissar. This type of behavior is just unacceptable!"

"No need to seek me out, Captain," Conna said, stepping out of the shadowed alcove and into the light. "I saw the whole thing. And believe you me, I plan on doling out an exquisite punishment to the instigator of this mess. I do have honor to uphold and I won't stand for this!" The men were too petrified to notice the smile tugging on Avin's face, but Conna did, and her own mouth twitched in response.

"Get cleaned up," she barked, turning a rock hard gaze on her men. "Now."

"But ma'am," stuttered a brave man. "The paint came from the showers! This was no one's fault! We didn't do anything!" His voice squeaked on his last words as both Marine and commissar shot razor sharp glares at him. He ducked his head, quivering.

"Don't take me for a fool!" Avin barked. "It would take an extremely dense techpriest for _that _to happen. Some people do have standards for you, even if youdon't and you will be held to them. You heard your commissar. Scat." The men scrambled to get away from the two seething officers, trailing paint through the halls. Conna burst into laughter as soon as the men were out of sight.

"Priceless! Did you seethe looks on their faces when they saw you?"

"I must have been a chaos demon by their reckonings. I'll bet they were picturing many painful and humiliating ways to die." A rumbling chuckle flowed from Avin in a soft boom. "Wait until they find out that water will come from the shower heads again. I'd die for a chance to hear the creative swears they'll come up with."

"Well, I plan on turning a blind eye on that particular part," Conna said with a shake of her head. "I could probably court-marshal them for the things they say about the Emperor. But it would be hysterical, that is true. It's quite nice to have friends in the right places."Avin nodded in agreement, the lopsided smile still on his face.

"Well," Conna said, stepping gingerly out into the hallway, skirting patches of paint. "I do have to deal out punishments. I hope to see you again, Avin. It's been a most enjoyable trip, don't you think?" At this, a full-blown laugh bubbled from him, a deep booming roar.

"That it has, Conna dear," he said, saluting her with an informal wave of his hand. "That it has."

A/N: An ultramarine without the stick up his ass! How refreshing! Please r&r!


	6. Sacrifice

Conna Dalvar felt all of her senses being assailed by the experience of war. The hiss of las-beams and the cough of bolts buzzed in her ears and the rolling stench of blood filled her nose and mouth, making breathing physically painful. This was not the simple, graceful warfare she took pleasure in. This was barbaric, finesse and skill taking a back seat to strength and instinct. She was absurdly grateful for the rock standing in the middle of her men. Avin Necarus, Captain of an Ultramarine squad and Conna's new found friend, had found her and her squad by some miracle and had been pivotal in rallying her men. The chaos warriors were fearless, maniacal fighters. They pressed through the doorway she was defending in endless waves, but broke over the solid blue rock in the midst of Conna's men.

"Conna!" Arrel, the squad Medicae, called to her through the vox-channel. "Is there any way you can buy me some time? I'm loosing too many men because I can't focus! All I need is ten minutes!" Conna turned to look at him for a moment, noticing that the blood on him was from her own men as much as it was from their foe.

"Avin?"

"I'm on it." Avin waded through the cultists blocking the door, the rapport of his bolter a herald of death. He grabbed the heavy door of the bunker they were hiding in and began to heave on it, putting all of his considerable Astartes bulk behind his push. The long unused hinges moaned under the force, and slowly began to give way. Low caliber bullets pinged off his armor like water droplets.

"Men, give him cover fire," Conna murmured into her vox. The men narrowed the scope of their fire, picking off the cultists closest to the door whenever possible. Conna noticed that Avin was making more progress with the door, the creak of rusted hinges slicing through the air. With a slam punctuated by screaming cultists and the crackle of fire, the door finally banged shut. The unexpected respite made Conna's knees weak and she staggered to the wall, sitting down with a thud. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears and her breath came in painful gasps. She took a sip from her canteen, the water loosening the dirt that was caked on the back of her throat. The sound of bullets still echoed in the room. The cultists were trying to break the door down with their weapons.

"Men, sound off." The men spat names out through the vox, and Conna grimaced at the number of casualties her squad had suffered. Out of a squad of 20, she was down to 10 men, five dead and five critically wounded. She could see the pinch of grief on Arrel's face across the room. He was staring at his hands, which were coated in blood. She stood and walked over to him, putting a consoling hand on his shoulder.

"You're doing the best you can. You won't be able to save all of them." When he raised his head to look at her his eyes seemed hollow.

"I've never lost so many at once," he whispered, his voice leaden with sorrow. "I should have been able to do more for them."

"You have been working very hard. No one will ask any more of you. You did an excellent job." She gestured to one man, who was propped up in a corner, a bloody bandage over the stump of what was once an arm. "He will live because of you. Look to your victories and not your losses." Arrel nodded, the grief in his eyes slightly lessened by Conna's words. She looked around and saw clusters of men, some talking quietly, others licking their wounds in silence. Avin stood at parade rest in front of the door, bolter across his chest. He nodded when her eyes met his, and Conna turned back to her men. Before she could speak, one of her men raised his voice.

"What now, Commissar?" he asked, voice thick with barely disguised fear. "We're stuck here, no way out except that one chaos infected door, and nothing but the clothes on our backs. We're running out of ammo, we don't have food or water. We're down to half-strength and there are no reinforcements in sight. What the hell are we going to do?" The panic in his voice was evident to the men around her and they raised a soft chorus of agreement.

"There is a way out." The soft boom of the Ultramarine's voice shocked the men into silence. "I believe that there is a trapdoor that leads to the sewers. You can utilize that to escape."

"Men, spread out and search." The men obeyed. It took only a minute to locate the hidden door. Before they could lever it open, the door that Avin had closed exploded inwards, sending The Space Marine sliding backwards and throwing some of her men off their feet. Standing where the door used to be was a Chaos Marine, his red and brass armor glinting dully in the motes of metal floating in the doorway.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"

The howled cry made Conna wince in pain. The marine had blasted a hole large enough for both it and a few cultists to press in towards their location.

"Get the men out Conna," boomed Avin. "I'll stop them long enough for you to get clear. Take as many of your wounded as possible. We're close to headquarters. You can make it if you hurry." Conna hesitated.

"GO!"

"You'll die!" She retorted. "I can't just leave you here!" The Chaos Marine roared and swung a deadly blade at Avin's head. He met the falling blade with his own chainsword. The screech of metal blades set Conna's teeth on edge as it cut its way through her brain. She heard her men sliding down the hatch, but couldn't bring herself to leave her friend behind.

"I told you to get out of here! It has always been my duty to fight when others cannot. I am the only one who can win this fight. I would not have you die needlessly. Please, _go! _You can warn the others." A piercing shriek rent the air as the Chaos Marine's chainaxe gouged a dull metal line in Avin's pristine blue armor.

"Conna! Let's go!" Arrel grabbed her and pulled her towards the trap door.

"I can't leave him, Arrel!" she said, digging her feet in and pulling back. "He's my friend! He'll die by himself!" She could feel her purchase slipping, Arrel's strength tugging her backwards.

"Conna, it's his lot in life to die fighting," he shouted. "He's putting his life on the line to buy us some time to get out of here. Let's go!" She turned to run after her men, but as she staggered up to the trap door she heard a bellow of pain. As she turned to slide down into the passage her heart stopped. She saw was Avin, slumped on his knees in front of the Chaos Marine, his left arm cut off at the shoulder. Bright arterial blood pumped from the wound.

"Let's go, let's go!" hissed Arrel in her ear. The last thing she saw before the hatch was slammed shut was the Traitor Marine, sword raised for the kill.

* * *

Conna's throat was tight as they ran, the last things she had seen in the barracks playing in her head like a jumpy pict. _It's his lot in life. Die fighting. GO!_ The scene looped over and over in her head and her eyes stung. Arrel, jogging behind her, reached out and brushed his hand against her arm.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "That must have been excruciating for you." Conna just nodded, unable to trust her voice. She drew strength from Arrel's presence at her shoulder and she pushed the pain into the back of her mind so she could focus on the task ahead.

"Ma'am, there's a portal here!" called one man, pointing to the ceiling. "Should I send someone up?"

"Go ahead," Conna said with a brisk nod, trying to hide the roil of emotions inside her. One man, Nat Conna recalled, carefully stuck his head out of the hatch.

"We're behind our own-look out!" The tunnel shook with the impact of some giant stone above their heads. She heard the disciplined clatter of heavy boots on the ceiling and knew what had happened.

"Weapons ready men, we're going out."

"But commissar, we don't know-"

"I do. It was a drop-pod. Let's go!" Her men obediently flowed out of the sewer tunnel in battle formation. Conna's guess was right. The pods were a shocking blue in the grayscale rubble of the city. Ultramarines flowed out of the pod nearest to them, guns pointed directly at them, holding their fire solely due to the uniform on Conna's back.

"State your purpose," barked the leader, the muzzle of his bolter squarely aimed at Conna's forehead.

"We were retreating through the sewers, sir," she replied, throwing the man a salute. "We were fighting in the bunkers two blocks over with Brother-Captain Necarus. One of the Traitor Legions attacked and he gave his life so we could escape."

"You lie." The vicious snarl made Conna flinch. "Our Brother-Captain yet lives!" He spoke into his vox-net, the harsh bark of his voice inaudible to Conna through the layers of armor and noise-canceling technology incased in his helmet. What he heard obviously angered him. His posture stiffened and he turned to look at them, the cold calculating eyes burning through to Conna's very core.

"There is some truth in what you say," he said finally, a note of worry underpinning the statement. "Go tend to your wounded. We can take care of the rest of these heretical scum." Conna nodded and turned to her men.

"You heard him. Let's go." Her men filed out in parade ground order, the effects marred only by the injured, many of whom had to be supported or carried. Conna took the last place in line, schooling her face into blankness. It had been an unusually difficult day.

* * *

"Sir, I have to know how he's doing!" Conna stood in front of the Astartes Infirmary, trying to peer around the Apothecary blocking the door.

"The state of our Captain is none of your business," he said, the finality in his voice making Conna's hackles rise.

"It _is_ my business!" She hissed. "I had to _leave_ him fighting a battle I knew he could not win and you have the gall to say it's none of my business? I'm patient and I am willing to stand here until you let me see him!" The Marine made to draw his bolter, but another voice came from inside, causing him to turn.

"Apparently my superiors say I should let you in," he said snidely. "I suppose I might-" Conna strode by him irritably. The room she walked into was a sanitary white, the buzz of machines creating a soft murmuring undercurrent in the otherwise silent room. She was beckoned to a curtained off corner by another apothecary, who pulled back the curtain. Avin was lying on what looked like a metal reclining chair, wires feeding fluids into the black carapace imbedded in his chest. The stump of his arm had needles and wires attached to the raw, wet, pink flesh. He was conscious, eyes open but fogged with pain.

"Good to see you made it out," he murmured, voice thick with pain. All the emotions Conna had suppressed wiggled their way out, a single tear trailing down her face to be quickly joined by others. They flowed silently down her face as her whole body shook.

"Do you have any idea how hard that was for me?" she whispered. "Do you have any idea?"

"I was willing to die for you," came his measured response. "I felt it was something worth laying my life on the line for. It was my duty. I'm glad you made it out." This only caused Conna to cry harder, a mewling cry falling from her lips. Avin reached out with his good hand, wiping one finger under her eyes.

"Stop this," he admonished. "You're blubbering. I pulled through, your men survived, that's all that matters." Conna wiped her face, trying to stem the tears but they kept rolling down her face.

"I'm just so glad you're going to be ok," she said, smiling through her tears. "It wasn't easy after that, believe me." Avin let out a bark of laughter that ended in a soft moan of pain.

"That's quite enough," the apothecary said briskly. "He needs rest if he's going to heal properly. Shoo." Conna obeyed, attempting to reign in her emotions. She went straight to her quarters and rubbed her face down with cold water before speaking to the men who had fought with her.

When she entered the room, Arrel noticed her puffy face and assumed the worst. But before he could speak with her, she smiled.

"Well," she said with a sigh. "Looks like he'll be alright. Good thing too. I never could have forgiven myself if he had died. But now I don't have to worry about that." She walked among her men, smiling at some and offering words of condolence to others.

_Looks like I can still do my job_, she said with a soft smile. _That's good_.


	7. That Time of Month

It was that time of month. Bloated and miserable, Conna wiggled in her chair, trying to find a comfortable position. A knock on the door made her flinch.

"What the hell do you want?' she snapped, in no mood to be interrupted. A man nervously poked his head into her office. She didn't recognize his face and wasn't sure if he was one of her men or just another bothersome official.

"Ah, Commissar?" His voice was watery and stained with apprehension. "I have word from my superiors that you will be reassigned shortly. We need your skills to help with a discipline problem in another regiment."

"I will _not _be reassigned! That is out of the question!" Her bellow shook the room, and the nervous man squeaked and ran into a corner. "What your superiors fail to understand is that a rapport is built between a Commissar and her regiment that you can't just break apart. I will not accept this assignment. You can bring that message back to those Emperor-forsaken paper-pushers you call your superiors and they can come and kiss my ass." Conna was breathing heavily, her body unused to channeling the carnal rage that had just poured out of her. This wasn't yelling to discipline an errant guardsman, this was yelling due to pure and undiluted rage. It was remarkably satisfying to watch the man scurry away without a backwards glance. Conna fell back into her seat, grimacing as her innards rearranged themselves. Another knock at the door made her leap back up, shaking with rage.

"What does a woman have to do to get a bit of peace and quiet around here!?"

"Conna, it's me," came an apprehensive voice from the other side of the door. Conna went to the door, the anger falling from her like a silk sheet. She opened the door to find Arrel, the 5th squad medicae, standing with a small package in his hands.

"I heard you weren't feeling well," he said, a nervous smile playing on his lips. "I hope this helps a little bit." He thrust his arms out, pressing the package into her hands. Conna took it and turned it over. It was two bars of high-grade chocolate, one bar of milk and one bar of dark.

"How did you know?" she said with a relieved smile.

"I have three sisters," he said with a reflective laugh. "They got like this, too. And what on earth did you do to that poor man? He looked like he had seen a ghost."

"He said that the powers that be want to reassign me," she said with a grimace. "I made sure he knew exactly what I thought about that idea."

"I'd miss you if you had to leave," he said, a sudden look of innocence on his face.

"I won't be going anywhere any time soon," she said. "I'll be here to bug you until the day I die. Or until the day_ you_ die, whichever comes first." Arrel gulped.

"I'll be seeing you then," he said hurriedly as he backed away. Conna waved, and walked back to her chair, unwrapping the bar of dark chocolate.

_It's going to be a long day. _


	8. Inquisitor Anna Dejarnette

From the files of Inquisitor Anna Dejarnette, Ordo Xenos

Classification: Vermillion

++Begin Transmission++

Commander Xandros

Over the course of my long studies in orkish technology, I have never seen or heard of the type of rapid, innovative development that has been recorded in the past few Waahgs that have been waged through systems in our most Holy Empire. Initial reports of these attacks show both technical and tactical advances that are, frankly, unorkish and may signify a far more sinister power at work. I plan on accompanying a drop to the Jocasta war zone to attempt to verify these reports. I hope for a timely and courteous response.

Anna Dejarnette, Ordo Xenos

++End Transmission++

A/N: I apologize for both the shortness of my update and the length of time it has taken me to update. My beta has had a stick up her ass for the past 6 weeks and my next chapter, all 9 pages of it, has been sitting waiting for one tiny thing to be ironed out before editing. Now this little bit is a prologue to the plot-bunny that has bit me rather hard as of late. I wanted to string together a series of connected chapters as a break from the unconnected ones. Look for updates within a few weeks. I have school soon, but once things have calmed down an update will be forthcoming. Sorry for keeping you waiting!


	9. Ork, orks, orks, orks, orks

"Men, the situation is grave. These men have been fighting for nigh on 2 months and it's a bloody stalemate. We hope that your troops will be what is needed to break the back of this Waaagh. You know your tasks and may the Emperor protect you and your troops." Commissar Conna Dalvar stood as Commander Xandros gave a curt nod, the other men beginning to file out. Conna was about to join them, but someone called her name, making her turn.

"You must be Commissar Dalvar! I heard about you bold attack on a xeno dreadnaught and I think it was very brave. My name is Rizelle Darius. I'm honored to meet such an esteemed hero of the Imperium!" Conna looked askance at her, and continued her walk.

"I'm coming with you by the way." The words rooted Conna to the spot, a look of pure disbelief written clearly on her face.

"What?"

"Commander Xandros granted permission for me to attach myself to your unit," she said brightly, "I'm coming with you, along with my companion."

"Oh, no, no no," Conna said hurriedly, backing away towards the commander, "Sir, there has to be some sort of mistake. I'm not going to baby-sit a pair of flighty civilians. I just won't do it. Xandros gave a wry chuckle.

"She's not as flighty as she seems, he said with a shake of his head, "And Anna there, she's a mean shot with a bolt pistol." Conna looked skeptically at the slight woman standing eagerly by the door next to her surly companion.

"Let's go," Conna sighed, running her hand through her short, slightly wavy dark hair. "I'll allow this, but if you cause me more trouble than I think your worth I won't hesitate to put a bolt through your skull."

* * *

There was plenty of grumbling when Conna told her men about their new additions. Most of it was along the lines of "Emperor forsaken civilians" and "Don't we do enough babysitting already" but some were more creative. However, when Anna put a bolt through the hat of one of them, they became ghostly quiet.

"Please," she said in a soft, melodic voice, "I'd appreciate it if you'd take me seriously. I can hold my own in a firefight and I know more about orks than the rest of you combined." The men looked at her, stunned into silence by her display of marksmanship. Anna folded her hands and looked at Rizelle. There were a few nodded assents, and Rizelle must have thought it was good enough because she turned to Conna, smiling brightly.

"Shall we?"

* * *

The line was a bloody trench affair. The reek of blood and day-old corpses filled the air making all but the most seasoned veterans gag. When the men heard the thud of feet, they looked up. Their faces were caked in dirt and many sported bloody bandages.

"Arrel, Marks," she called, gesturing to two of the medics in her squad, "Looks like we were wise to bring extra supplies. You know the drill." The two men hoisted the extra packs and slid down into the trench.

"Who's in charge here?"

A battered major greeted Conna and her men, leading them through the winding maze of muddy pits. They were taken to what passed as command headquarters. It was really more of a reinforced hole in the wall of a particularly secluded trench. A table and chairs were arraigned in a loose circle, maps and a vox-caster rested on the table. The men stood in a small cluster outside, talking quitly among themselves.

"You have no idea how much of wonder the reports of reinforcements been for morale," the Major said with a sigh. "No one has any idea what's really going on. It's hard enough keeping those beasts from overrunning our lines and communications are patchy at best and non-existent at worst. Fresh troops are more of a blessing than you can guess. I'm Major Joseph Alimar, by the way, Jocasta 17th." Conna nodded.

"Commissar Conna Dalvar. Anderican 23rd." She began pouring over the maps and tactical information, trying to figure out where her men would be most useful. "Where do you need us?" she asked. "I have twelve squads with me, along with extra supplies."

"I need most of your men up front in these trenches," he said, pointing to a set of lines with green markers not far from them. "The orks are right up on them and we've taken the heaviest casualties there. We've thinned our men out to the breaking point and fresh troops are desperately needed."

"I'll send my men right away," Conna said with a curt nod. "The Emperor protects."

* * *

It was clear that Major Alimar wasn't lying about the poor state of morale. There was a haggard look about them, the result of two bloody, unproductive months of war. They greeted Conna's men with subdued smiles and pats on the back. Rizelle, who had been armed before they came planet-side, was met with catcalls until Anna made her opinion of them quite clear with a well-placed shot. Anna, herself, had little trouble, her military fatigues and dark glower making it clear that anyone who looked at her wrong was in danger. It wasn't long until the first wave of orks threatened their lines.

It started with a rather startling bombardment. A group of orks came with what looked like grenade launchers, but when they fired, it what came out were gretchins, the pesky little sub-orks that were used as both live ammo and slave work. They were shot directly into the trench, where they wrecked havoc with sharp teeth and even sharper blades.

Conna felt her leg being gnawed at and lashed out. The gretchin that was biting her flew out of the trench, colliding with another gretchin in mid flight. The creatures gave out a high-pitched squeal and fell to the ground, soon to be run over by a very curious device that seemed to be a unicycle with a Gatling gun attached to either side. Conna was quite mystified as to how they worked and said so as she picked off the unsheltered riders with well-placed shots.

"It's called Waaagh mentality," chirped Rizelle, who had stuck to Conna like glue, popping up at her elbow at the most annoying times. "If enough orks believe it will work, it will work, simple as that. It's the pinnacle of ork technology. Explains those horrid monstrosities they call ships doesn't it?" Conna sighed, focusing on aiming and not paying attention to the chirpy voice beside her. "Those orks are very inventive. They can slap anything together and will have a war machine. My studies have shown that they rely on paint for things like speed and aiming. Apparently the red ones go faster and the blue ones are lucky."

"Be quiet," Conna said irritably, waving one hand at Rizelle. "I can't focus with you blabbing in my ear." Rizelle went quiet, nervously shifting her eyes between Conna's gun and the horde of orks pressing in on them. As silence fell, Conna could hear the orkish chanting swell. It was clear that they were preparing to charge, bikes revving and guns clicking as ammo was loaded.

"Steady men," Conna warned, "It looks like we're going to have company down here soon." The long-range attacks petered off, giving the men a much needed breather to prepare for the main assault_. Buggers know nothing about strategy_, thought Conna grimly. _Good thing too, or we'd be frakked a million times over. _Conna loosened her chainsword in its sheath, preparing it for easy withdrawal. She heard the orkish chanting reach a deafening crescendo, and then, bellowing as one, the orks charged.

The Guardsmen met their change with a charge of their own pouring out of the trenches like rats. Much to Conna's surprise, a red motorcycle broke from the rest of the pack, only to crush a guardsman and send its rider flying in the process. The ork was shot out of the air by disciplined fire, torn to pieces in a hail of lasers.

"See," Rizelle said, a hint of satisfaction in her voice, "The red ones do go faster."

* * *

For three weeks, Conna and her men slugged through mud, dead bodies and oppressive heat. The orks were a resilient foe that constantly evolved their strategies and equipment. It made for a hellish experience. One day, just as they were digging in for the night, gretchin air raiders threw Molotov bombs on the camp from what looked like hang gliders with small engines on the end of them. They were fast and maneuverable, and almost impossible to shoot down. When they hit a person, the oils clung to skin, burning many so badly that they had to be sent back for further aid. Supplies were destroyed and it took 3 days for the army to be ready to move again. It was taxing. Conna was dirty, unbearably hot during the day and freezing at night and she had a bad case of fleas and head lice. But slowly but surely, the orks were being beaten back.

Conna was preparing for a final attack when Rizelle entered her tent, Anna at her heels.

"What is it?" Conna asked without looking up from her map.

"I have a bit of advice for this upcoming battle," She said, coming and standing by the table.

"What on earth do you know about battles?" Conna said, looking up skeptically.

"Absolutely nothing," she said cheerfully, "But as I've said before I know a lot about orks. You have to go for the biggest ork you see. That's the leader, get it? If you can kill the head man they'll just end up fighting among themselves. That will effectively break the back of the waaagh and then we can all go home."

"You knowledge of orks is rather astounding," Conna said, looking long and hard at Rizelle. She had proved to be right about everything she said in regards to orks and Conna was a bit suspicious. "That kind of knowledge could be considered heresy by a more conservative person. What is stopping me from calling the Inquisition down on your head?"

"Calling the Inquisition?" Conna started as Anna walked up to her, a dark smirk on her face. Hanging from her hand was a gold Inquisitorial I, the blood red gems twinkling faintly in the lamp-light. "I AM the Inquisition."

"But…"Conna sputtered, wide eyes tracking the swaying icon. "But what are you doing here?"

"What I'm doing here is absolutely none of your business!" She snapped, grey eyes flashing. She took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look, If you so much as breathe a word to anyone about this I _will_ call the Inquisition down on your head without a second thought. May the Emperor Protect you." Conna just stared as Anna strode out of the tent, Rizelle at her heels.

_Holy shit!_ Conna thought as she watched Rizelle's retreating back. _No one expects the Imperial Inquisition!_


	10. Everything Ends in Exterminatus

A/N: Sorry this took so long. Real life's been a bitch. Between my Grandpa getting a stroke and play practice kicking into high gear I've had no time for writing. Thanks for bearing with me guys!

Isador Akios kicked me in the butt and got me typing. He deserves hugs and more reviewers for his amazing space marine fic. Go look at it. It's wonderful. He also thinks I have fans…it makes me giggle.

Conna Dalvar paced up and down the trench. They were dug in, preparing for the final attack on the orkish stronghold. Her men were tense, well aware of the fierce battle ahead of them. Most had been fighting for weeks, some for months, and there was not a single person who didn't want this to be over.

"Well, this is it." Major Alimar joined Conna at the lookout, gazing towards the distant cloud that represented the enemy forces. Scouting missions estimated the ork force at over twice the size of their own standing army, and the enemy's ranks were swelling with every passing day.

"that's for sure," Conna said with more calmness than she felt, "But it's gonna be a doozy, Stragigic advantage be damned."

"Don't let your men hear that," he said with a wry chuckle. "It would be bad for morale." Conna twitched, trying to hide a smile of her own.

"Not with you here for comic relief," she deadpanned, making Alimar snort. "But my men are veterans, down to the last trooper, and if they haven't figured out what they're in for, I'm an ambull steak."

"Did someone say steak?"

"Head down, trooper. I have a gun," Conna said straight-faced, "and unlike some of you, I can hit a target smaller than a squggoth." Outright laughter greeted this, and Conna smiled.

These bouts of humor were a welcome relief from the stresses of waiting for battle. The restless boredom weighed heavily on many of the troops despite Conna's efforts to lighten the mood. She was only one person and she could only do so much.

"Ehm, commissar?" Conna turned to find Trooper Endicott waiting nervously at the foot of the stairwell leading to the watchtower.

"What's the situation, Cotty?" she asked, using his affectionate nickname in an attempt to put him at ease.

"You wanted to be informed when the latest scout reports came in and…Well, you have to see this for yourself." Conna felt her stomach sink at his words.

That's hardly comforting, she thought grimly, Hardly comforting at all. Conna excused herself and joined Endicott at the foot of the stairs. She was led through the warren of trenches until they were standing at the door of the command bunker. Endicott turned, murmuring about returning to his post. Nodding. Conna pushed aside the flap and entered the tent.

The sight that greeted her confirmed her suspicions. Inquisitor Anna Dejarnette and her adept Rizelle had their heads over a map along with Colonel Alio Asem of Conna's regiment, the lower command staff of Alimar's regiment and Colonel Varras DeMarr, the commander of the armored regiment that had reinforced them two days earlier. He had already rubbed Conna the wrong way by questioning her ability and looking down on her for being a woman in a "men's world". She gave him an icy glare as she entered and moved as far away form him as she could without being rude.

"Considerate of you to join us, Commissar," he said snidely. Conna bit the inside of her lip, what was left of her good mood evaporating like mist under a noon sun. She looked down to look at the slate and her blood froze.

"Squggoths, Commissar," Rizelle said grimly, gesturing to the orbital scans and scout reports. "At least four are on the front lines and they need to be kept out of our infantry at all costs." At this, Conna interrupted.

"DeMarr, keep them off our backs at all costs. Armor piercing rounds to the stomachs do the trick." DeMarr shifted, placing himself directly in Conna's line of sight. Conna grit her teeth,

"I don't need advice from a stripling, upstart female," he spat, a fleck of spittle landing on her cheek.

"I only thought—"

"I was serving in the army before you were born, girl, and I demand that you respect me!" At this Conna snapped and drew her weapon, quivering with rage. She aimed it point blank at DeMarr, holding it just millimeters away from the tip of his pug nose.

"The only reason you are not a slowly cooling corpse on the ground is that I need you to keep my men alive," she hissed, her pent up rage shattering her carefully constructed mask. "If you cross me one more time, I can promise you won't be so lucky. And as for respect, I'll promise you nothing that I am not given in return. And if you don't manage to keep the Squggoths off our lines and live to tell about it, I can guarantee you a coward's death. Now, I'm finished here, unless anyone else has something important to say to me. " She waited for a moment, then stalked out of the room, the tent flap snapping behind her.

"That insufferable, little, sodden excuse for a piece of shit," Conna muttered, pounding her balled fist into a sandbag wall. She had plopped herself down on the top of a sentry gun port, as far away from prying eyes as she could manage. Stewing in her rage, she didn't notice that Colonel Alimar had plopped himself down beside her until he spoke.

"DeMarr getting under your skin?" he asked sympathetically. Conna flinched, and then smiled weakly.

"You have no idea," she said, rolling her eyes. "That sorry piece of grox shit thinks he can walk all over me because I'm a woman. I don't see him treating you like this."

"He's not overt about it, but he's a snide bastard, and doesn't hesitate to belittle me because of the recentness of my promotion. I'm not sure there's a single person in this entire bloody encampment that likes him. Makes me pity his troops." Conna smiled, her bad mood slowly dissipating.

"I hope he gets stepped on by a squggoth," she said with a sigh. She stood, looking at her hand in mild bemusement. She hadn't realized she had worn a flushed and irritated mark on the skin.

"I should be going," she said softly, patting him on the backing a friendly gesture. "I have things to attend to, and I'm sure you do as well." Alimar nodded and they walked down the stairs together before going their separate ways.

The artillery barrage started at dawn. Conna gasped, jerking from a restless dream, grasping her gun and racing outside. Her eyes were still blurry eyed with sleep and se blinked her eyes clear. But when the calmness of the surrounding trench seeped into her sleep-fogged brain, she muttered a quiet curse. Fuming, she stalked back into her bunker, tugging on her sleep-rumpled greatcoat and yanking her hat firmly over her ears.

_That little frakker wanted a little revenge for my put-down_, She muttered, trying to smooth out her sleep rumpled greatcoat. Tramping back outside, she sauntered to a sentry post, taking a pair of magnoculars to scan the enemy lines.

It seemed like the barrage was doing its work. Impressive holes were being gouged in the band of green, but for every hole there seemed to be ten times as many solid blocks of orks. As she watched, the foe began its charge over the vast track of open space between the trenches.

_If they didn't vastly outnumber us, this wouldn't even be a fight_, Conna thought grimly. _As it is, they'll still have the advantage. There's just so frakking many of them_. She clenched her jaw, well aware of the fierce battle ahead. She saw the men around her tense, and knew they had seen the same thing she had.

"Men!" she cried, modulating her voice so it carried across the front lines. "The enemy comes knocking at our door. Will we let him pass without a fight?" A deafening roar met her words and she smiled, raising a fist in the air. "No we will not! We will fight until we are victorious or we are all dead. We will fight, down to the last man. You may fall, but if you die today you will die in glory. Today is a day when heroes will be made. Today will be a day seeped in glory. We make our last stand here and now! For the Emperor!"

The battle wasn't as bad as Conna had expected. It was worse. Despite her overt warning to DeMarr, the Squggoths were still a huge problem. Three of them had been brought down with long-range missiles before they became a problem, but the fourth made it into the lines, crippling the artillery. When the tanks were brought up to counter it with armor piercing rounds, it disabled three tanks by stepping on them before being falling right on top of a trio of squads who had been trying to bring it down with hand-held krak grenade launchers. And that was only the first wave.

Conna pressed herself against a lukewarm corpse. Split by an ork charge, Conna and two squads of men had been pinned behind a dead squiggoth. Her back, pressed into the ragged bloody craters torn in the thick hide by armor piercing explosives, was stick with half-dried blood and itched infernally. She craved a good swordfight, but she knew she couldn't take 100 orks on herself and she didn't have a death wish.

Merric, one of the company snipers, was taking pot shots at the mass of green bodies, doing his best to keep them off the troopers. Fortunately from the perspective of the guardsmen perspective, they were mostly being left alone, the roar of artillery and the hiss of lasbeams a more tempting target than any gone-to-ground guardsmen.

"What now?" Conna looked up into the slightly nervous face of Trooper Jansen. He was no more than 19 or 20, and he was still very green, having been a fresh recruit at the beginning of the campaign. He had a long face and big, round brown eye, framed by messy brown hair. "We can't just hide here. We'd be cowards!" Conna smiled outwardly at his loyal naivety.

"Being careful isn't the same as being cowardly," she said, making sure she was speaking just loud enough to be heard by all the men around her. "Running out here to die isn't useful and would be simply moronic. And the last time I checked, we weren't morons." The men who had worked with Conna before chuckled, and Conna felt the tension ease slightly.

"Holy Throne, what is that thing?" Conna crawled forward, joining Merric in a half crouch behind the body. He pointed, and handed Conna his scope.

"Saw it while I was doing a scan. Any ideas?" Conna gulped, trying to keep her nerves in check.

"Death," she replied tartly, turning away to talk to Anderson, who had been trying to patch into the vox network.

"Patch me in, Anderson," she ordered, crouching down beside him.

"The connection's not very good," he warned. "A lot of static."

"I'll get my message through," Conna said grimly, punching in her override code.

"Command, this is Commissar Dalvar, Come in. Repeat, this is Commissar Dalvar. Command, come in." A hiss of static greeted her, but, much to Conna's relief, it quickly resolved into speech.

"…ing you loud and clear, Commissar. State your status and location."

"Status: stuck. Location: far away," Conna said, her battlefield humor leaking into her broadcast. "But that's unimportant. A gargant has been sighted 15 degrees from our current location. Far enough to be almost invisible to the naked eye unless you're looking for it but close enough to be a real threat." She rattled off her coordinates and the rough coordinates of the gargant and sat back, awaiting a response. There was a pause as this registered, and Conna could hear the sounds of command buzzing faintly in her ear.

"Sighting confirmed, Commissar. Heavy armor is being rerouted to your location, along with new reinforcements."

"Reinforcements?" Conna asked surprised despite herself. "I was not aware that the tactical situation had changed enough for any sort of significant rerouting of our resources."

"We have been reinforced by 3 squads of Black Templars," came the reply. "It seems the situation here has been brought to the attention of some rather influential people."

"No kidding," Conna said dryly. "We will await assistance. Conna out."

The arrival of the Space Marines was a welcome relief. The assault marines reached them first, the bounding leaps of their jet packs taking them over most of the orks. The few that remained between them and Conna's men were shredded without a thought.

"Commissar," greeted the sergeant coolly as he and his men formed a tight circle. Conna could not help but shiver at the sight of the cold wall of stark black and white that closed in around them. The Space Marines radiated barely contained deadliness and Conna knew that the only reason she was still breathing was because they let her. She was in awe of the power of the Emperor's chosen sons. All of them gathered quickly including, much to Conna's surprise, a venerated dreadnought. By the time they had all gathered, the gargant was looming over the battlefield, rudimentary weaponry spitting death on armor and infantry alike. At a nod, the Space Marines moved to engage the enemy.

The battle was quite a sight. The Templars were a ruthless and eficient fighting force, letting nothing come between them and their objectives. But Conna, who belived in protecting those who could not protect themselves, was taken aback by their indifference towards the regular fighting troops. Despite their fighting prowess and clear field superiority, the Templars never once offered help to the beliegered guardmen, even when their objectives were not unsimilar to the Marines' own.

But despite all the savagery, the Templars gave the Guard a much-needed rest. The orks were pushed back allowing regrouping and resupplying. This in turn allowed Conna to regroup with her men, much to their obvious relief.

"Nice Commissars are hard to come by," said Colonel Asem, only half joking, when she returned. "We'd hate to loose you." Conna brushed it off with a smile, but was genuinely warmed by the troopers' respect and trust. But when she found DeMarr struggling out of a half crushed tank, she grit her teeth. Putting on a sticky sweet smile, she walked up to him, pulling her gun as she approached.

"Remember that little date I promised?" she asked, the smile on her face solidifying as she watched his eyes widen. "I wasn't kidding." The loud bang echoed in the suddenly silent field. Conna spat on the corpse and turned on her heel.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish."

The battle raged for days without easing, wave after wave of orks throwing themselves onto the immovable rock of the guard. The Space Marines only evened the odds, their unceasing presence steeling the determination of the normal fighting men. By the fifth day, Conna was battered and exhausted, but she led by example, her own effort exhorting her men to greater efforts. But the battle had dissolved into a bloody stalemate.

"We have to do something!" Conna slammed her open palms down on the table, begging Inquisitor Dejarnette to take some action.

"What do you recommend?" she asked coolly.

"Call for reinforcements!" Conna shouted, as if the answer was obvious. "Do you have any idea how useful a naval barrage would be? Or another thousand bodies on the ground? We can't win like this! That should be glaringly obvious!" Conna knew her men were all trying their hardest, but they were only men and the odds were just too huge. "We can throw ourselves into a fruitless battle or we can do the proper thing and ask for help. There is nothing wrong with asking for help when you really need it."

"So we need help do we?" Anna said calmly. "Very well."

Safely back on the flagship of the Anderican 23rd, Conna watched the orbital bombardment with no small amount of satisfaction. The blazes of hot white-blue light cut the clouds, slicing through the atmosphere and evaporating all the life, xeno and natural alike.

"Take a deep breath, gentlemen," she said to the room, full of her upper staff. "This is one party that's good and done. And none too soon"


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Proof that not all of the far future is grimdark. I was craving a little bit of cuteness so here it is. You may suffer from a minor case of diabetes when you're done. Sorry this took so long, but I've been working on another writing project so this fell by the wayside. But more is coming, I promise.

Medicae Matthew Arrel stood nervously outside Commissar Conna Dalvar's office, a data-slate clenched firmly in his left hand. He raised his other hand to knock, pausing for just a moment before tapping his knuckles on the metal bulwark. When no one answered, he eased himself into the room.

The desk was strewn with data-slates paper and styluses, the messiness of day-to-day bureaucracy cluttering the room. he walked behind the desk setting the slate down in a clear spot. Just as he began to move towards the door, he noticed a rectangular piece of paper on the floor and bent over to pick it up. When he flipped it over, he realised that it was a photo. A tall lanky man who looked like he was in his mid thirties was holding a young girl who looked about 5. He was dressed sharply in a Commissarial uniform, warm brown eyestwinkling in an angled face marred only by a single scar running from the right corner of his mouth to dissapear in his hairline above his left ear. Arrel was struck by how much the man looked like Conna. Bu soon enough, his eyes were drawn to the little girl in the man's arms.

She had the beginnings of Conna's sharp cheekbones and keen eyes, but she was still chubby, a round face peaking out from an oversized Commissar hat. It had fallen over one eye, being made for a full-grown man, and the other chocolate eye stared straight out at the camers, mouth set in a defaint pout. The whole portriat was quite adorable nd a small, silly smile spead over Arrel's face. He fillped it over, curious to see if there was a note on the back.

_Dearest Conna_

_Forgive me for these last years of grief. It warmed me to hear that you were safly in the hands of the teachers at the Schola Progenium and that you have followed in my footsteps as a Commissar. You have all my love and good wishes._

_May the Emperor guide your steps_

_Your loving father,_

_Martin Dalvar_

Areel smiled softly, fillping the photo back over and running his finger lightly over the gloss smooth paper. He thought back over his time serving under Conna. at first, the men had pushed at her, bending the rules as much as they could. But as they fought with her, the began to apreciate her cool lever-hededness in battle and her fairness in dealing out punishment. She always made an effort to interact with even the lowliest troopers and fostered good relationships with everyone. And as far as Arrel could tell, Conna's efforts had paid off. The men were fiercly loal and Conna was quickly becoming an integral part of the regiment.

"You'd be proud of her sir," Arrel said, tapping the hat half off Conna's childish face. "You'd be proud."" tenderly lying the photo down, he smiled and walked out.


	12. Musical Interlude

A/N: This is my apology for having horrid writer's block on this fic. The song is The Dentist Song from the movie _Little Shop of Horrors_. It was scary how well this song worked XD

_[Khorne]_  
When I was younger, just a bad little kid,  
My mama noticed funny things I did,  
Like shootin' puppies with a B B gun  
I'd poison guppies, and when I was done  
I'd find a pussycat and bash in its head  
That's when my mama said

_[Demonettes]_  
What did she say?

_[Khorne]_  
She said, "My boy, I think someday  
You'll find a way  
To make your natural tendencies pay  
You'll be a dentist  
You have a talent for causin' things pain  
Son, be a dentist  
People will pay you to be inhumane  
Your temperament's wrong for the priesthood  
And teaching would suit you still less  
Son, be a dentist  
You'll be a success

_[Demonettes]_  
Here he is, folks the leader of the plaque!  
Watch him suck up that gas!  
Oh, my god!  
He's a dentist and he'll never ever be any good  
Who wants their teeth done by the Marquis de Sade?

_[PATIENT]_  
Oh that hurts! I'm not numb!

_[Khorne]_  
Oh, shut up. Open wide. here I come!  
I am your dentist

_[PATIENT]_  
Goodness gracious!

_[Khorne]_  
And I enjoy the career that I picked

_[Demonettes]_  
Really love it

_[Khorne]_  
I am your dentist

_[PATIENT]_  
Fitting braces

_[Khorne]_  
And I get off on the pain I inflict

_[Demonettes]_  
Really love it

_[Khorne]_  
I thrill when I drill a bicuspid

_[Demonettes]_  
Bicuspid

_[Khorne]_  
It's swell though they tell me I'm maladjusted  
And though it may cause my patients distress,  
Somewhere, somewhere in heaven above me  
I know, I know, that my mama's proud of me  
Oh, mama  
'Cause I'm a dentist and a success  
Say ah!

_[PATIENT]_  
Ah!

_[Khorne]_  
Say ah!

_[PATIENT]_  
Ah!

_[Khorne]_  
Say ah!

_[PATIENT]_  
Ah!

_[Khorne]_  
Now spit!


	13. Emotion

A/N: I'm sorry this took so long, but I've had horrible writer's block and I've been really busy. I can't promise I'll be quick, but I'll try to have another short chapter sooner than it took me to get this one out.

She could see the storm coming in from the sea, rolling slate waves crashing against the cream beach. The sky was as angry as they sea, tossing and heaving like a caged animal. Toes curled in the cool sand, Conna felt the air roll over her arms like some benign spirit or ghost. The site of the last battle was just over a rise, but Conna could only hear the crash of the waves and hiss of the wind. She knelt, pressing her palms into the sand just below the tide line, the waves crashing over her hands and bare feet in a biting bath. She had left her greatcoat further up the shore, bur her laspistol was still firmly belted to her waist. She had come here seeking solace, and a rest from the chaos of paperwork and decamping. The battle had been bloody, but the serenity of the quiet beach was a soothing blanket for her restless mind.

_Something's changing_, Conna thought sadly. _Days like this used to hurt so much more._ Conna knew that she was just getting used to the violent, deadly nature of her profession, but it still caused a troubling ache in her heart. It was much easier to rationalize her own death than the deaths of the troopers she had grown to care about. There had been plenty of close calls with her own life, as demonstrated by her augmetic arm and the hashing of scars across her body, but it was much harder to ask why people died who deserved to live as much as she did. It was a painful reality that people would die in war, but she still never could wrap her head around the seeming waste.

_I mourn them, but I cannot remember their faces,_ she continued, her morbid train of thought unbroken. _I cannot remember. And then they fade out of all though. The number who died today might not even be recorded. And then whose job is it to remember? Someone has to. If no one remembers, it's as if they never lived. It's the lot of a solider I suppose, but I wish it didn't have to be that way._ The call of a seabird broke her thoughts and she looked up, rising from her crouch. The clouds were darker now, but there was a crack of sunlight peaking through. It gave off a fitting reddish glow, like a bloody lantern, but at the same time, it was still very hopeful. Some sort of light was better than nothing at all.

"Conna, you should come back before the storm breaks." Colonel Asem stood at the crest of a dune, gazing apprehensively at the roiling clouds. Conna stood slowly, gathering her clothing in one arm.

"I'm coming."


	14. Happy Emperor's Day

A/N: I know, Christmas in July…BITE ME! I just really wanted to get something up so you guys would know I haven't forgotten this collection. I'm just dry on inspiration, so even this isn't new….But I still love you and hope to get something new up before school starts.

"On this day, we remember our Lord and Savior, the God-Emperor of Mankind he who—" Conna sighed, refolding her hands in her lap.

Another year, another horrid Emperor's Day speech, she thought, plastering a mildly interested look on her face as Chaplain Endmon rambled on about duty and obligation. At least I'm sitting unlike those poor sods. Whenever an important holiday rolled around, the regiment found themselves in the high arched chapel, forced to listen to the chaplain's nasally monotone. He loved giving speeches and would drone on for hours whenever he could get away with it, and this speech was no exception. Conna had absolutely no idea why he had become a priest. He was small, dumpy, balding and a dreadful speaker. Most of the men just laughed at him, calling him a little bug and other unsavory and insulting nicknames. But, time and time again, the troops found themselves listening to his drone.

Suddenly, a loud hissing crackle rent the air. Conna leapt to her feet, only to find the high arched ceiling filled with fireworks. Blue white and green sparks flickered in the high ebony arches, the glass panes depicting the God-Emperor's struggles flashing almost as if they were moving. The men had begun to cheer and laugh, no longer paying any attention to the sermon.

"Emperor be praised!" Conna muttered, rolling her shoulders as she stood. "This bloody sermon is over!"

Later, the mess room was packed to bursting, amasec flowing freely along with harder liquors. By this time, Conna was more than a little tipsy and was thoroughly enjoying herself. Jumping on a table, she raised her glass in a toast. Tapping her glass, a respectful silence fell.

"Gentlemen, I would like to thank the trooper who set off the fireworks at the sermon. If I had had to sit through one more minute of that sorry excuse for a lecture we would have had to arrange some sort of a friendly fire incident." A cheer and a roar of laughter greeted her statement and Conna smiled before she downed another shot, letting the liquid burn a trail down her throat. She slid gracelessly to the floor, head spinning and weak-kneed.

"Looks like you need to lie down for a bit, Conna." Arrel had appeared at her elbow, gently holding her up on her feet. "Come on. If you drink too much more, you'll have to worry about sore joints as well as a sore head in the morning." He steered her out of the room, hands on her shoulders, despite her mumbled protests. He dropped her gently on her bed, and bent to remove her shoes. Flopping her feet up onto the cot, he pulled a light blanket over her half conscious form and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Happy Emperor's Day."


	15. Square

A/N: OH MY GOD I AM HORRIBLE FOR TAKING SO LONG! And I also have no excuse besides a shitload of writers block… But thanks to a square dancing class today, I got the seed of an idea. There's a longer piece in the works if I ever get around to writing the last half…

Unbeta'ed. All mistakes are mine.

Commissar Conna Dalvar may have been the soberest person in the room, but that wasn't saying much. 6 months of grueling combat was being sloughed off in an empty storeroom, and she knew that every man here deserved the last drops of amasec they could pass through their lips before passing out. Charon had been that sort of campaign.

She nursed the glass in her hand, doing her best to keep a decent amount in the faceted crystal. She knew that one well meaning drunk or another would slosh more into it if she wasn't careful and the men were getting to the point that most of it would go on her boots rather than in her glass. And she already had a pleasant swimming feeling in the front of her face from about 5 too many glasses.

"Come dance with us!" Someone, Flame-Trooper Daryl, she thought through her fog, took her hand. She made a halfhearted complaint and shoved her still full glass into an empty hand. She had picked up a little of the Anderican folk dancing from Asem, but she had never tried a full square like the one that had sprung up when one of the more sober men had pulled out a fiddle and her feet kept sliding out from under her when she didn't pay attention. But she fell into an easy rhythm despite the fact that she didn't have much of an idea of what she was doing. She could vaguely hear the sounds of clapping and laughter, and a soft and drunken smile crept onto her face. But then the world tilted and Conna stumbled forward, pulling the whole square into a mass of sweaty bodies and combat boots. The gales of laughter this provoked were cut off suddenly, and a voice filtered down to where she lay, covered in other bodies.

"This is absolutely unacceptable! I want to speak to the instigator of this mess at once, as well as your commanding officer and supervising commissar!" The pig pile of men shifted and released both Colonel Asem and Commissar Dalvar.

"I swear to the drunk I am not as Emperor as I seem."

"I do apologize for the very drunk state of the regimental Colonel," Conna said calmly, dusting off her hat and placing it on her head. "However, this was a sanctioned party and thus you have no right to complain."

"No right to _complain_?" It was about then that Conna noticed the Tallarainian badge on the man's pristine storm coat. "You are a bunch of ingrates and heathen savages. I will say nothing this time, as long as the ruckus dies down and this room is clean come my inspection tomorrow. If it is not, there will be…unfortunate repercussions." The man swept out of the room in a swoosh of coat tails and Conna laughed and laughed, trying to keep her footing.


	16. Death

A/N: GAH! I am so sorry it's taken me nearly 4 months to update! I've been very uninspired and have had my time eaten up by graduation, and then full time work, as well as my TinyHammer story, which has been gnawing at my brain. I hope the next updates come faster, but no promises...

I am also trying some new things here as far as storytelling and style go, so let me know what you think.

I am dying.

The thought came without pain or fear. In fact, she was mostly numb. She made to shift her weight, but the only part of her that responded was her head, which felt like someone had filled it with stones. Looking around her, her heart crunched as she saw the waste. Not a hands width away from her was the body of a soldier who couldn't have been older than 19. Death had not slackened the round features, nor had it closed the over bright glassy strikingly green eyes. His face was the still gray of death, the only indication of the violent nature of his death the ashen bullet hole between his eyes and the splatter that was all that remained of the back of his head. She wondered what her body would look like when it was found. Her ragged breathing tugged at the gaping wound in her side, and she knew it should hurt. It had, when she had fallen there, taking her breath away and almost making her scream. But it didn't hurt anymore.

~ ~ ~

"Has there been any news?" Colonel Alio Asem ran a hand through his hair, face pinched with worry. A whole squad was unaccounted for, including their own beloved Commissar. It had been three days, and they were presumed dead. But he kept coming back, hoping there would be some news. But there never was.

"I don't know why you keep coming back here. If there hasn't been any news after three days, they must be dead." Comms Officer Derrin Hart was a bitter man by nature, having lost his whole family in a house fire before he joined the Guard, and Asem was about to reprimand him for his tactlessness before he realized the truth in his words.

"They are my men," he said softly. "I won't rest until I find out what happened to them."

~ ~ ~

"This one's alive! We need immediate evacuation!" Squads of soldiers wandered the now quiet streets where the battle had once raged. It was a sombre task, mostly sorting the dead, but every so often, they stumbled across the sorts of tiny miracles of life that sometimes crop up after war.

"We need a blood transfusion. Solid round to the chest, punctured and collapsed lung. Severe blood loss and shock." A medicae cut the uniform away from the grievous injury and began to try to stabilize the injury.

"She needs blood now or I'll lose her." The transfusion was set up as the body was shifted carefully to a stretcher before moving carefully away with her.

~ ~ ~

"Colonel Asem?" The man in question turned away from his console to meet the eyes of the messenger who had come from headquarters. "This report is just in from the morgue. A squad from your regiment was found two days ago, no survivors." He handed Asem a dataslate with a sympathetic look. Asem flicked though it sadly.

Wesson  
Turner  
Nix  
Dorsey

The list went on, 20 names all together. But one name was glaringly absent from all the lists, casualties or dead. He knew after 4 days of searching, the chances of the commissar turning up alive were slim to none, he couldn't quite let it go. The men were fiercely loyal to her, and he knew that it would be nearly impossible for them to transition easily if she had died. And there was one person in particular that he didn't want to have to break the news to.

~ ~ ~

Matthew Arrel knew that he had appointed himself Conna Dalvar's adjutant without so much as a by-your-leave, but he had worked hard to keep his position, and it meant that he felt more useful than he ever had as just a plain medic. He had no official title, save when it was absolutely necessary, but his place was known by most everyone involved, and he was proud to serve. He trusted her, respected her and would follow her to the Eye of Terror itself if she asked it of him.

And alone in his berth on nights when he couldn't sleep, he might just admit that he loved her too.

He was currently wrapping up the last of the paperwork regarding the dead, and his heart was heavy. The look Colonel Asem gave him when he walked into the med-bay didn't help his low spirits.

"I hate to give you more work, but the last casualty reports came in." Arrel felt a knot form in his throat. Asem shook his head sadly as he saw Arrel's face. There was a clatter as a data slate hit a desk. Asem watched sadly as Areel slipped out of the office, a pained look on his face.

Conna Dalvar jerked upright, a searing pain coursing through her left side, leaving her gasping and sputtering. Warm hands pushed her down, and as she stilled, the pain eased until it faded away.

"Name, rank and number?" came the disinterested voice of an Administratum official standing beside her bed with a data slate. Conna tiredly gave her information, before collapsing back on the gurney that held her. She closed her eyes to rest for a moment, but slipped into a painless sleep before she even noticed.

"It seemed like the Emperor was looking over us." Colonel Asem sat on a wooden chair next to Commissar Conna Dalvar, shaking his head in amazement. "We all assumed you were dead, especially after they found 8th squad."

"Miracles do happen," Conna said wryly. The new augmetic lung still pained her when she breathed, and she was still unable to leave her quarters due to pain and fatigue. But she was healing, despite the soft mechanical hum of her breathing and limp in her step.

She had been kept busy by the flow of well-wishers, men who wanted to confirm with their own eyes that the reports were true. But now, with just her and the Colonel sharing a glass of amasec, Conna felt every injury.

"You look tierd." Conna smiled.

"It looks like it's time for me to sleep," she admitted with a nod. "Thank you."

"Thank you."


	17. Chapter 17

Outstanding notice

As of now, I am moving my fanfiction archive to another archive site. If I have chosen to continue any of the works currently incomplete, they will be cross posted there.

The link (minus the spaces): /users/ allofthefandoms

If the work is not on that page, it has been discontinued.


End file.
